


get out of my bed

by sandpapersnowman



Category: Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Grinding, M/M, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6804103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can have my blanket, if you want.”</p>
<p>He hears a short laugh of disbelief and scorn, and a half-growled “I’m fine” in response.</p>
            </blockquote>





	get out of my bed

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY I GENUINELY CANT BELIEVE THIS WASNT HERE ALREADY I LOVED THIS SO MUCH
> 
> minor edits made to correct tense from the original post here, i'm movin old stuff

He can see him shivering from across the small dormitory they share. He’s suggested before that Fifield just wear more clothes when he sleeps, but he’s brushed him off with a short, pissy explanation akin to him despising sleeping with anything but sheets on his skin.  
  
He then informs him that he usually slept naked on Earth, and Millburn has to turn over in his bunk and avoid eye contact.  
  
But tonight, the ship is especially chilly, and he can hear even Fifield’s breath shaking. Millburn sits up, hesitating in the darkness before breaking the silence.  
  
“You can have my blanket, if you want.”  
  
He hears a short laugh of disbelief and scorn, and a half-growled “I’m fine” in response.  
  
The room goes quiet again, but Fifield is still shuddering. “Or my body heat. It’s more effective.”  
  
“You’re a fuckin’ weirdo,” is his instant response, but it’s more mumbled than spat. Millburn takes it as an open invitation, getting out of his bed and gathering his blankets. He’s wearing a full set of pajamas, the ones supplied by the Weyland Corporation, but no socks, and it’s a freezing walk across the room.  
  
Fifield sits up, looking at him like he’s insane (which he might be) and Millburn just grins back before throwing his blanket over him. He crawls into bed beside him, pushing his shoulders back down to the bed and throwing his arm over Fifield’s hips.  
  
“What the fuck? Get off of me.”  
  
“Just because you’re a lame geologist doesn’t mean we don’t need you on the team, douchebag. If you died of hypothermia the first night we’re here, there’d be hell to pay. Shut up and go to sleep.”  
  
Before Fifield can even think of a coherent response that’s not submission to the human heater wrapped around him, the biologist is asleep, breathing quietly against his shoulder. He decides that he can punch him in the morning, and surrenders to the comfort of a warm body pressed against his.  
  
  
Millburn wakes up first, the two of them overheated and sweaty against each other. He wonders if they’ve been tangled together all night, and when he opens his eyes, he realizes Fifield is facing him, one leg wrapped around Millburn’s own.  
  
He’s biting his lip, rocking up against him, and for a second it occurs to Millburn that maybe letting him stay cold might have been a better idea. He can feel the entire length of Fifield’s cock pressed up to his thigh, and he wonders if it’s his body’s reaction to the warmth of another body, or Fifield’s own reaction to Millburn. He presses his thigh into him cautiously and Fifield’s breath catches, grinding into him harder, and Millburn lets himself pretend for a moment that the cause is the latter.  
  
He still has an arm around his waist and pulls him closer, boldly leaning forward to press light kisses along his jawline. The beard scratches at his lips, and although it’s pleasant, it tickles. Millburn brings him even closer, slipping his knee completely between Fifield’s legs as he carefully swipes his tongue along the edge of his ear. The redhead clings to him, something between a growl and whimper escaping him. With Fifield squirming and rubbing against him, he knows he’s getting hard too. He isn’t sure there’d be an explanation (Millburn’s face buried in this jerk’s neck, arm wrapped around him, Fifield’s leg pulling his closer) if anyone were to walk in.  
  
But they’re both pulled from their wet dreams (his metaphorical, Fifield’s literal) when a morning alarm goes off throughout Prometheus, one that the captain had set approximately for sunrise. He jumps, distancing himself, and stares at Fifield in horror for a moment as his stupidly blue eyes slowly open. His pupils are dilated and he’s still breathing heavily, and it takes him a moment to realize that his erection is squeezed between his stomach and Millburn’s. It’s _that_ realization that finally makes his fingers uncurl from where they’d been digging into Millburn’s back.  
  
He pushes Millburn out of his bed onto the floor and claims the shower first, telling him to take his blanket back to his bed and to sleep on his own side of the room from here on, “Like a normal person.”  
  
Millburn sighs, standing from the floor and completely ignoring the precum smeared on his pajama bottoms as he gets ready for the day’s expedition outside.


End file.
